Child Abuse Story From Rick:

My name is Rick, and I found this site by coincidence. I read some of the stories, and decided that, even though it isn't really like me to do so, post my story.

I have never actually told anyone about what happened. I have kept this a secret for a very long time. I did this, because I can't tell on her. The person who abused me sexually.

I am posting this story because I want people to understand why someone is sexually abused for such a long time as I was (about 9 years).

It started a very long time ago, when I was very young, about 4. Me and my sister always went over to my grandmother's.

My grandmother always told me everything. She would tell me why she didn't like my parents, and why I shouldn't like them. She also said she disliked my sister, who was about a year younger than me. She always told me I was the only person she had ever cared for in her whole life, and that if I would ever leave her or tell on her, she would die of a heart attack.

Most of the time, things were normal, strange as it may sound. We would always do things together, such as go shopping and I could get whatever I wanted from the toy stores. This made me feel very special.

The abuse was often at night, when we would sleep in the same bed. I once told her I didn't want her to touch me anymore. I remember one night like it happened yesterday. I told her: "Would you please remove your hand?" And she said: "Oh, just let me." I don't think I'll ever forget.

In the beginning I would often resist going to bed or watching one of her 'movies'. My grandmother knew what I was afraid of, she knew exactly how I was. Because I was afraid of the dark, she locked me up in her room once after I said no, and she stood behind the door and she said: "If I hear a light switch go on, I am going in!" I remember getting under the blankets and hoping it would be over soon.

My abuse got worse when my parents got divorced, I was about 8/9. My father was focused on other things I guess, and sometimes he would for example forget my birthdays, and I would always tell myself: Oh it's not so bad, some people don't ever get anything. Yet when I would go over to my grandmother and she had my birthday all planned out, that made me feel special and it always made me come back.

My abuse got worse, because that is the thing when you're being abused. You keep telling yourself that one day it will get better, or things will be all right, things aren't that bad, etc.

My abuse ended when I was 13 and my grandmother told me she no longer wanted to see me, because she no longer loved me.

Thanks for reading this.

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Disclaimer: To the best of my knowledge the child abuse
stories on this site are true. While I cannot guarantee
this, I do try to balance the need for the submitter to be
heard and validated with the needs of my visitors.